


Please stop talking

by rosemary22



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo, les mis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 21:42:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14246352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosemary22/pseuds/rosemary22
Summary: this was written in a few hours after tumblr/ao3 user @trickztr sent me a an ask regarding an ask thingy i reblogged themed "i wish you would write a fic where…""I wish you would write a fic where after a super awful argument at the Musain R, Extra Bitch™ that he is vows to go 24h without saying a word."





	Please stop talking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [trickztr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trickztr/gifts).



> you'll find me at @whensunscollide on tumblr and at @marsisnotcreative on youtube and at @playlandi on instagram and twitter in case you want to contact me for any reason <3

Enjolras woke up with his head hurting a bit. He hadn’t slept very well that night; he had been too stressed out and lost sleep over it. Enjolras slowly opened his eyes and checked the time on his phone – which was too unnecessarily bright and made him flinch when the light hit his face. It was eight in the morning. He had gotten home near midnight, had made himself a cup of chamomile tea to calm his nerves and had locked himself inside his room, but he only managed to fall asleep around four am. It was eight in the morning, his head was hurting and the flat was quiet. Uncharacteristically quiet. Even for a Sunday morning.

He tried falling back asleep, but after nearly an hour of rolling on his bed from side to side and obtaining no success he decided to get up and face the day.

The smell of freshly made coffee filled the air as he opened the door to the corridor and the scent made him smile faintly before heading straight to the bathroom to take a shower. That was the first thing Enjolras did in the mornings: taking a shower. But that specific morning he was also hoping the hot water would lower his headache somehow.

So he stayed in the shower for a long time, drawing and writing things on the glass. He wrote his name in cursive a couple of times, then he tried drawing a penguin, but he gave up after two failed attempts. Then he wrote his friend’s names, letting the almost boiling hot water fall on top of his head and through his hair to the rest of his body. After a while, when he did feel a bit more relaxed, but the headache hadn’t gone away he admitted his own defeat. Enjolras hated taking meds. He hated going to doctors, taking pills, he hated all that. The biggest blessings in his life were Jehan’s natural ways of solving problems and Bossuet’s ridiculously extensive knowledge about herbal tea. But he didn’t have them at the moment and it was nine thirty in the morning on a Sunday. No one would be awake at that time.

No one but him.

And according to the coffee scent his roommate. His head hurt again just by thinking about facing him and Enjolras sighed. His roommate was the reason he hadn’t slept well, he was the reason Enjolras was so stressed out. No, that was unfair. It was unfair for Enjolras to think like that. It wasn’t Grantaire’s _fault_  per say, but… They had argued the night before at the Musain. During a meeting of the Amis. Enjolras had said something, he couldn’t even remember what he said, it was so off topic already, and Grantaire responded mocking him, as always.

They started their regular arguing, no one was paying too much attention to it, it was common, it was the usual. They were used to it, it made things interesting. Grantaire helped, in a not very nice way – but still –, Enjolras see the blank spots on his arguments, on his own beliefs. He helped Enjolras get better at defending his cause. So Enjolras had stopped caring when Grantaire was a bit too rude or a bit too personal. But then, again, it wasn’t always Grantaire who ended up being rude or personal. Enjolras had his share of the blame too and he knew that. Their relationship was complicated and overall too frustrating so both of them would occasionally slip during an argument and make it too personal, too real.

When they moved in together their friends thought it wouldn’t last a week. It couldn’t. They didn’t stand each other. But Grantaire had been looking for a new roommate and Enjolras had just been kicked out of the place he lived because he called his old roommate – a friend of a friend, no one Enjolras actually liked or cared about – a sexist transphobic dick and then proceeded to punch him on the nose when he had answered “I can’t be sexist, I’m a gay man. And at least I have a dick”.

They moved in together and everyone placed bets as to how long they would last. And they lasted a week, two weeks, a month, two months, a whole year. Eventually everyone just gave up betting when one of them would move out.

But last night had been different. Enjolras had been the one to cross the line first, but Grantaire was the one who threw a Molotov on the line and exploded it brutally. Enjolras didn’t remember much how the argument started, but he remembered himself saying something about how Grantaire’s opinion didn’t matter since he wasn’t even actually involved with any of their causes. Which was what made everyone look at them and also made Enjolras realise he had fucked up. But Grantaire didn’t back down. He always did. They had this rule about when one of them started being an asshole, the other would just stop for a second so the other could realise how much he had fucked up and try to make amends. Grantaire didn’t.

He stood up from his chair and answered, a mix of anger and disdain on his face, fire coming out of his eyes; Enjolras was taken aback by that view and his heart did skip a beat, as cliché as that can be. “I’m a part of at least half of the causes this stupid collective fights for; my opinion as a half black half latino, bisexual, bigender _is_ relevant even if you don’t give two shits about it, momma’s boy.” Enjolras’ blood boiled. All that made Enjolras remember the days when they met, when Grantaire used to drink too much and they used to fight this bad quite frequently. But there was no scent of alcohol in Grantaire’s breath that night. “You think you have a right to decide when I say something and what I say? If so you’re nothing but a spoiled kid who thinks he’s oh so smart, who knows so much about the word, and who loses his cool when he realises he’s got no control over the universe. It’s pathetic. A joke. All of this is. You are.”

“If what I said bothered you so much, if you actually care about any of this, if you actually think you can add to the discussion then maybe you should start actually contributing to it other than just making fun of what we’re trying to do all the time. If all you open your mouth to say is irrelevant mockery, Grantaire, then, no, it _doesn’t_ matter. So, please stop talking and go back to your seat.” Enjolras could feel his heart pounding against his chest and he didn’t know whether it was because he was furious or because he and Grantaire were too close to each other and almost touching. “And you’re right. It is pathetic. That I even care to listen to what you have to say when I know it won’t matter at all. That I care about you. It truly is pathetic and I’m tired of it. I’m tired of you.”

“Take it back, Enjolras.” Grantaire’s hand was on Enjolras’ collar and Enjolras was sure he was going to faint. But he wasn’t sure of what Grantaire had meant with that. There was something in his eyes that made Enjolras be sure Grantaire was holding something back and he didn’t know what. No one was doing anything, how was no one doing anything? Enjolras didn’t say a word and Grantaire just nodded once.

Enjolras knew he had fucked up immensely. He knew. That’s why he hadn’t slept properly. Grantaire had let go of him and sat back on his chair, proceeding to spend the rest of the night without saying a single word. Not at the Musain. Not after he saw Enjolras getting scolded by almost everyone. Not after he himself got scolded. Not on their way home. Not a word.

It had been ugly. It had been a slaughter. And Grantaire’s quiet attitude the night before was the indicative that he needed some space, so Enjolras gave it to him for the night before apologising.  Which he would. He had to. He knew he had hurt Grantaire. Enjolras took a deep breath before getting into the kitchen, after having slipped into clean pyjamas. Grantaire was sitting down on his usual spot, drinking his usual morning coffee, smoking his usual morning cigarette, reading something from a book Enjolras couldn’t see the name of. It was familiar. So Enjolras got himself a mug and poured the rest of the coffee in it.

“Morning.” Enjolras said, getting himself two slices of bread and putting them in the toaster. Grantaire didn’t look up from the book, so Enjolras figured he either hadn’t heard him – which wasn’t unusual for when he was too concentrated on something – or he was still mad, which was completely understandable. “Morning, R.” He raised his tone a bit. “About yesterday… I wanted to apologise about everything I said. It wasn’t fair. I was wrong. I’m sorry.” Grantaire closed his book, put out his cigarette, stood up, smiled a very fake smile, looking at Enjolras, raised his mug at him and gulped the rest of the coffee in it, putting the mug on the sink and leaving the room without a single word.

Enjolras kept staring at the door for a while until his bread was ready, not knowing what to do or how to react. He hadn’t anticipated that kind of reaction. Sure, he had said words that hurt Grantaire, but so had Grantaire. He sighed and sat down to eat his breakfast, drink his coffee and try to think about what the hell he was going to do.

Maybe Grantaire needed a bit more of time, ok, he could give him that. So he would wait until around lunch time to talk to him again. Maybe even apologise again, so Grantaire would know he truly meant it. Then everything would be fine. They would be fine.

Enjolras went to his room after washing the morning dishes and started working on an essay. Everything was quiet. Usually Grantaire would be practicing something music related or even listening to some music while he worked on something of his own – sometimes he stretched in the mornings, other times he painted, he was always doing something, working on something; personal or professional, Grantaire never stopped. But that morning was quiet. And the silence was distracting. It made every single noise louder than it had to be. It made every crack of the wooden furniture more evident, every step on the upper flat a thousand times more audible, every bird singing outside seem closer. It was unsettling, it was distracting, it was as if Grantaire wasn’t even there and Enjolras didn’t like it.

They had a routine. They had battled to build that routine together, to get used to each other’s quirks, to meet each other in the middle of the road, to know which habits they had to drop to sustain their friendship and to work out as roommates and which habits were okay. It had taken Enjolras a few weeks to get used to the fact that the flat would rarely ever be quiet.

Grantaire was loud. He was loud sneezing and loud walking and he liked to have music playing somewhere at almost all times and he sang in the shower and he practiced all the instruments he played quite frequently. He was loud and Enjolras had learnt how to deal with that loudness. Enjolras didn’t mind the music and the singing, the problem had always been with Grantaire’s blabbering when Enjolras had something to produce or to do. So they stablished a limit. Enjolras would listen to Grantaire talking for a bit, but then Grantaire would have to channel his energy through another activity until Enjolras was done doing whatever he had to do; so Grantaire would play with Enjolras’ hair, he would learn how to make a new meal, he would paint something on the bits of Enjolras’ skin that were showing and that wouldn’t bother Enjolras while he was typing or whatever he was doing, he would just stay in Enjolras’ room tapping his fingers on Enjolras’ bedside table and humming something while Enjolras finished whatever he had to.

And when it was Enjolras’ turn to channel energy through human contact they would cuddle watching something together and Enjolras would run his fingers through Grantaire’s hair, or Enjolras coloured Grantaire’s tattoos with R’s colourful sharpies, or Enjolras would play Grantaire’s keyboard while Grantaire hummed something.

They had a routine. And it was never silent. But that morning was.

Near lunch time Enjolras knocked on Grantaire’s door. No response. He knocked again and still there was no response. He texted Grantaire, maybe he had gone out. It would be weird. For him to have gone somewhere and not having told Enjolras, but maybe… The two arrows turned blue on the chat and Grantaire was no longer online. Enjolras knocked again, even harder this time. Grantaire opened the door. He had one side of his earphones on, his phone on his hand, he was sweaty and shirtless which meant he was probably working out. Quietly. He was working out quietly. Enjolras was amused. And a bit distracted.

“It’s my turn to make lunch and I was wondering… What do you want to eat?” Enjolras asked, calmly, trying to sound as soft as possible. Grantaire raised an eyebrow. “I know you’re angry at me and you have all the right in the world to be. I crossed the line. I’m sorry.” Grantaire’s face because neutral, his eyes fixed on Enjolras’. Enjolras waited. “R?” He didn’t get it. “Look… You don’t have to forgive me just now. I understand if you need some time. I just wanted to say I’m sorry. And to know what do you want for lunch. That’s all.” Grantaire’s expression didn’t change. Enjolras waited again. They stared at each other for more than a minute and Enjolras could feel himself getting angry. He took a deep breath to calm himself down; he was trying to apologise, not to fight again. “I’ll make us pasta with pesto sauce since I know you like it. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything.”

As soon as he turned his back he heard Grantaire close the door and that was it; back to silence.

Enjolras texted the first person he could think of. It felt like one of Grantaire’s crisis, only that time the person having a crisis was Enjolras.

 **Enjolras: Is something wrong with R?**  
**Jolllly: shouldn’t you be asking HIM that?**  
**Enjolras: He’s not… Talking to me? I think? I’m not sure.**  
**Jolllly: oh, yeah.**  
**Jolllly: that’s a thing.**  
**Enjolras: What do you mean “that’s a thing”?**  
**Jolllly: I’m mad at you, I’m taking R’s side. sorry, Enj.**

Enjolra sighed and put the water on to boil before texting someone else.

 **Enjolras: Please tell me you’re either on my side or not taking sides at all.**  
**Ferre: I was wondering when you’d text me.**  
**Ferre: No sides.**  
**Ferre: Doesn’t mean I think you’re right.**  
**Enjolras: I just want to know what’s happening.**  
**Ferre: Ask Grantaire,**  
**Enjolras: I tried.**  
**Enjolras: I mean, I didn’t. But I apologised. Twice. And he didn’t answer. He literally just stared. And I asked him what he wants for lunch. And he didn’t answer. He just stared again.**  
**Enjolras: I think he’s not talking to me?**  
**Ferre: Why ask questions you already have the answer to?**  
**Enjolras: Wait. He’s not talking to me?**  
**Ferre: Do you even remember the amount of horseshit you said to him last night?**  
**Ferre: You were cruel.**  
**Enjolras: I know.**  
**Enjolras: I do.**  
**Enjolras: I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean them.**  
**Ferre: You were cruel.**  
**Ferre: He was an asshole too. But you were cruel.**  
**Enjolras: I know.**  
**Enjolras: What do I do?**  
**Ferre: Give him time. Show him you meant the apologies and not the cruelties. And give him time. And respect his decision if he decides not to forgive you.**  
**Ferre: You owe him that.**  
**Enjolras: I don’t know why I said what I said.**  
**Ferre: You were riled up. And scared. He caught you off guard, you went on defence mode. And your defence mode is your worst mode.**  
**Enjolras: I am my father’s son, after all.**  
**Ferre: You are.**  
**Ferre: But you’re not your father.**  
**Ferre: You made a mistake. You fix it. Even if it takes time. You hurt someone, you apologise, you let them know you’re there to help with the wound if they need any. And you give them time, space and a choice. Be wise. You’re not your father.**  
**Ferre: And if I ever catch you speaking like that to Grantaire or anyone ever again I’ll personally thrash you, Enjolras.**  
**Enjolras: I thought you weren’t taking sides.**  
**Ferre: Trust me. I’m not.**  
**Ferre: I love you. Go fix your mistake. Call me if you need anything.**  
**Enjolras: Thanks, Ferre. Will do. Love you too.**

Enjolras took a deep breath. It’s not like he needed Combeferre to be that mad at him to realise he had hurt Grantaire, but it helped put everything into perspective. He tried remembering why the hell their argument started, but he couldn’t. It didn’t seem important. It didn’t seem out of the ordinary. So why did it escalate that much? Enjolras tried focusing on making lunch without ruining anything and he managed. Only barely, but managed.

He put everything on their table, wondering if Grantaire would want to eat with him or not. He would give him a choice and respect it. So he marched to Grantaire’s room, texted him, waited a bit and knocked on the door. Grantaire answered fairly quickly this time; still a bit sweaty, but with his t-shirt on and no headphones. “Lunch’s ready.” He turned his back, knowing R wouldn’t answer, and went back to the kitchen, sitting down on his usual chair. Grantaire followed him, silently. “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.” Grantaire sat down, staring at Enjolras, and started putting food on his own plate, not saying a word, and then he looked down at what he was doing.

Enjolras did the same after Grantaire and they ate. In silence. Absolute silence. Enjolras tried remembering when had been the last time he had had a quiet meal and he couldn’t. Even before moving in with Grantaire, he used to eat out most of the times before moving there, so there was always noises. Always. People talking, street sounds. But since he had moved in with Grantaire they hadn’t spent a single meal together without chatting or joking around. Even when one of them was having a bad day, they would always talk, they would always exchange something; knowledge, culture, useless facts, anything.

“Do you have plans for tonight? Sometimes you go out on Sundays…” Enjolras tried. Grantaire didn’t even look up from his plate. “R…” Enjolras could barely hear his own voice, but Grantaire looked at him. “I had no right to say the things I said last night. I was wrong. I don’t know what’s going on inside you head right now, but, please, know I didn’t mean any of what I said. I’m truly sorry.” Grantaire narrowed his eyes for a second, then his face went blank again and he just nodded once. “You’re not going to say anything?” As a response, Grantaire looked back to his plate and took more pasta to his mouth. Enjolras understood. He really wasn’t going to talk. “Lunch dishes are mine, don’t worry about them.”

They both finished eating and Grantaire went back to his room, still quietly, still not saying a word. Enjolras washed the dishes and sat down on their sofa in the living room.

It hurt. More than whatever Grantaire had called him the other night. It hurt a lot. It hurt because that wasn’t them; if they had a problem they talked it out. Sometimes shouted it out. Sometimes whispered it out while they were cuddling on that exact spot Enjolras was sitting on; and _that_ hurt too. When they were caressing each other, talking about their deepest secrets and solving some of their issues so low that they had to be very near each other to be able to listen properly to what the other was saying.

A month and a half after having moved in with Grantaire, Enjolras realised what a big mistake he had made. Not because they didn’t work out together, not because they fought a lot; because they worked out too well. And all those years of Enjolras trying to deny the huge spot Grantaire had in his heart had gone thought the window the literal first time he heard Grantaire humming the romantic song from Tangled while he showered.

But Enjolras swallowed it all, he went over every single thing that hurt him a bit just so he could build the best friendship ever with R. So that place would be their safe place; so that they could actually trust each other so deeply that eventually Enjolras would learn how to let go. It didn’t make sense, he knew it didn’t. But he was too much of an egoist and he took anything Grantaire was willing to give him. Every touch, every space, every sight, every word, he took it all and he relished on them even though he knew not a single touch, a single space, a single sight, a single word meant to R everything it meant to Enjolras.

And still, he had told Grantaire that his words didn’t matter. That he didn’t matter. That Enjolras was tired of him… He had not only been immensely cruel to Grantaire, he had also lied. And it was an ugly, hairy and venomous lie that had hit Grantaire with all its strength and had managed to tear down everything they had built for each other.

Turns out, Enjolras concluded, he had crossed the line, Grantaire had just tried to push him back with a punch to the gut, but he, not R, had actually been the one to Molotov it all and bring down whatever home they had built for themselves. And now everything was wreckage and silence. And it hurt. And he didn’t know what to do.

Enjolras tried not to think about the possibility of everything being actually ruined for good. It wasn’t him, it wasn’t Grantaire and he wouldn’t let his biggest fear dominate him like that. But in the back of his mind he was terrified. He sat there for hours, remembering as much of the fight as he could, reliving it in his brain; trying to think of alternative ways of convincing Grantaire that he hadn’t meant a word, trying to think of ways to let Grantaire know that he cared without letting Grantaire know that he _cared_.

He sat there for hours, he didn’t notice the sun go down, he didn’t notice his body start to shiver lightly from the cold night air coming through the window. He didn’t hear the neighbours next door arguing, he didn’t hear someone’s high pitched scream outside of the apartment. The thing that took him out of his trance was starting to feel tears coming down his face.

Enjolras tried to be as quiet as he could as he felt nothingness consume him and his breath got shallow and snot was coming out of his nose. If Grantaire wanted silence; that was the least Enjolras could give him. Even if he hadn’t cried like that in years, he tried holding back. If he was hurt it was his own damn fault. He got too close, too attached and then he fucked it all up. He had no right to feel sorry for himself for his own mistakes; that was ridiculous. That was pathetic. Grantaire was right, Enjolras was pathetic and Grantaire didn’t even know half of it.

Enjolras closed his eyes, squinting when the living room’s light was suddenly turned on. He looked at the clock on the wall, it was ten pm. He had literally been sitting there since after lunch. He looked at Grantaire, who had stopped midway of whatever he meant to do and was looking at him, mouth half opened, eyes wider than the usual. Enjolras cleaned his face with his own t-shirt, quickly stood up and darted to his own room.

“Pretend you didn’t see that. I’m sorry.” Enjolras said, not even looking to Grantaire while he ran past him. Grantaire grabbed his arm and Enjolras turned to face him. “Let go…” His voice was low and Grantaire took a step closer, taking his hand to Enjolras’ cheek. Enjolras closed his eyes and let out a small moan, not ever wanting Grantaire to take that hand from his face. “R, please…”

“Sh…” Grantaire put his index finger on Enjolras’ lips and Enjolras opened his eyes slowly. Grantaire was watching him so closely and he was a mess. He had no right to be like that, he was the one who had fucked up, it wasn’t fair. Grantaire sat down where Enjolras was before, guiding Enjolras to sit down with him. Enjolras didn’t fight, he couldn’t fight. The strong leader of the ABC had one weakness and it was that man. Grantaire was his kryptonite and he couldn’t fight it.

As Grantaire’s hands caressed his head and back and he rested his head on Grantaire’s muscular and yet surprisingly comfortable chest, Enjolras remembered why he started considering R his kryptonite. They had lightly argued once about the fact that R was calling him Steven Rogers after they had watched the second Avengers movie together.

“I’m not Captain America, that’s outrageous, Grantaire.” Enjolras ahd laughed then, not being able to pretend he was actually mad at Grantaire.

“Ok, I’ll call you Super Man, then.” Grantaire had shrugged, grinning, and Enjolras had rolled his eyes.

“He’s DC’s Steven Rogers.” Enjolras had said and Grantaire laughed. “It’s almost the same thing.”

“Nah, Clark Kent is an _alien_. He’s way more fun. And he has the whole ‘look at me, I’m invincible’ thing going on, but his disguise is as a nerd and on top of it all there’s his weakness: the kryptonite.” Grantaire smiled wider. “That’s very you.”

“And what’s my kryptonite, Grantaire?” Enjolras had provoked him; it was very easy for him to forget he shouldn’t make his crush so evident when Grantaire was physically so near to him, touching his hair, almost whispering in his years.

“That’s the mystery. But I’ll figure it out sooner or later, Super Man.” Grantaire’s voice had made his shudder and he had tried to pretend it had been the beginning of a laughter.

“You’re ridiculous, R.” Enjolras had answered, forcing his laughter again and getting closer to Grantaire, who had held him more strongly, apparently clueless to the fact that him figuring that out was the last thing Enjolras wanted.

Enjolras stopped crying after a while, but he didn’t want to move. He didn’t want to go back to the silence and the walls, he didn’t want that. So he stayed still, he didn’t say a word. He paid attention to Grantaire’s breathing, to Grantaire’s chest rising and falling, to the sound of Grantaire swallowing. He took in everything he could for as long as he could, terrified to lose it all again. Grantaire’s arms loosened up around him. Enjolras’ hands turned into fists holding the fabric of Grantaire’s t-shirt and R held him tightly again.

They stayed like that, still no words, for almost an hour. But it hurt a bit less. It hurt less because Grantaire’s breathing could be heard, because Grantaire’s heartbeat could be heard. And those things didn’t lie, they didn’t hide from Enjolras. It was selfish and awful of him, but he needed that. He had hurt Grantaire and he needed Grantaire to comfort him and that most definitely made him a spoiled momma’s boy and he knew it, but he still needed it.

“I’m sorry.” Enjolras broke the silence eventually. He knew he would have to. “I hurt you and I didn’t mean to, I didn’t want to. I was vicious and cruel and I hurt you and I am so terribly sorry, but I can’t have you hating me, leaving me the way you did today, Grantaire.” Enjolras’ grip tightened on the fabric. “Shout at me, tell me all the truths you want to, tell me to go fuck myself with a baseball bat and no lube, make me cry from even crueller words, R, but, please, don’t… Don’t leave like that… Please don’t…” Enjolras took a deep breath, trying not to cry again. “You can punch me if you want, like you almost did last night. Call my mother names, say I’m a brat, I’m spoiled, I’m arrogant, I know I am sometimes, you have all the right to. And if you’re going to hate me make it vocal, send me to hell and back. I hurt you bad; you have the right to, but just… Don’t leave like that.”

“It’s awfully arrogant of you to think you’ve hurt me, you know that, right?” Grantaire’s voice made Enjolras look up as quickly as he could. Grantaire wasn’t smiling, but he hadn’t let go of Enjolras. “To think your words and opinions matter so much to me that you manage to hurt me as badly as you think… Very arrogant. A true spoiled brat.” Enjolras bit his lower lip. That also hurt. But he deserved it. “Wait, what else did you ask me to say to you?” Grantaire narrowed his eyes for a second. “Oh, yeah, you should go fuck yourself with a baseball bat and no lube, go to hell and back; and your mother…” Grantaire’s expression softened. “I’m not calling your mother anything.”

“R…” Enjolras sat down straight, still not getting out of Grantaire’s embrace, and closed his eyes when one of R’s hands touched his face. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m…” Enjolras opened his eyes again and looked at Grantaire’s face, at Grantaire’s lips. “Sorry…”

“Why are you apologising?” Grantaire’s question confused Enjolras. “You said you hurt me. Why do you think that? Because I ignored you today? I was just following your request, that’s all.” Grantaire’s thumb caresses Enjolras cheek lightly. “What were the words that you think hurt me, Enjolras? If you really want to apologise you have to know what you’re apologising for.”

“I said…” Enjolras bit his lower lip for an instant; his pride was starting to want to take over, but that was his chance of making things right. Grantaire mattered more than his stupid pride. “I said your words aren’t relevant. I said your opinions don’t matter. Those are lies. I lied to you. And I hurt you by doing so.”

“You weren’t wrong in context. I do mock the causes and the ABC and you and that really isn’t relevant and that really doesn’t contribute to anything.” Grantaire sighed. “If that’s why you’re apologising then there is nothing to apologise for.”

“I’m not.” Enjolras took a deep breath. “Tired of you. I never am. I’ll never be. Of caring about you, for you. Of listening to your rambling or humming or breathing or just existing. It’s all relevant. You’re relevant. It all matters. You matter. In general. And to me.” Enjolras took another deep breath; he knew that could fuck things up even more. “And that’s why I hurt you, right? I said I was tired of you. I know you’re insecure about that and I used that to hit you. That’s why I hurt you. That was the lie that hurt you.”

“Ok.” Grantaire sighed.

“Can you say it?” Enjolras asked, tentatively. “If you accept my apologies, if you believe them… Can you say it?”

“I forgive you. I believe you. I believe in you.” Grantaire said and Enjolras’ heart skipped a beat. “You were cruel. You really did hurt me, Enj. And you knew exactly how to do so, that’s what made it worse. I gave you a chance of taking it back then and you didn’t; so I believed you.” Grantaire’s thumb was on Enjolras’ lips. “But I had no idea that me giving you the cold shoulder like that would hurt you as much as it did. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t even want to prove a point by it, I just… I swore to everyone I wouldn’t talk to you for a whole day and I thought that would make you mad, but not hurt… So I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you like that, Enj.”

“You had the right to.” Enjolras said, very quietly, closing his eyes, praying that Grantaire didn’t take his fingers from his lips. He was a fool, he was being a fool, he was most likely going to regret that, but he didn’t care anymore.

“You don’t fight cruelty with more cruelty. It creates an endless circle of pain and doesn’t change anything. You taught me that. The ABC taught me that.” Grantaire chuckled and Enjolras smiled faintly. “And I would never so much as slap you, Enjolras. I don’t want you to think that. I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.”

“It seemed like you would. I wouldn’t have minded. You were in your right to.” Enjolras regretted responding when R’s fingers left his lips, but he felt content once they settled on the back of his neck. Enjolras opened his eyes and looked into Grantaire’s; pupils blown wide. “It looked like it… because you held my collar like this…” Enjolras took his hands to the upper part of Grantaire’s t-shirt and pulled him closer. Grantaire hummed and looked at Enjolras’ lips. “And your eyes looked a bit like how they look right now.”

“And does it look like I’m about to punch you, Enjolras?” Grantaire pulled lightly a fistful of Enjolras’ hair and made him shiver and moan lightly. Enjolras shook his head. “What does it look like I’m about to do?”

“R…” Enjolras closed his eyes. That was definitely not his imagination. So maybe all the other times he had thought Grantaire was looking like that at him wasn’t either. “You’re being cruel.” Grantaire chuckled and pulled at Enjolras’ hair lightly again.

“You told me I could be.” Grantaire made their foreheads touch. “Tell me now if you don’t want this. If I’m getting it all wrong.”

“Grantaire, please stop talking now and kiss me already?” Enjolras’ voice sounded more like a plea than anything else.

“It’s cute that after all this you still think you have a say in when I speak and when I don’t.” Grantaire’s lips were touching Enjolras’ but not the way Enjolras wished they did. “Just for the record, I’m not shutting up because you told me to. I’m just doing it because I happen to have something more interesting to do with my mouth right now.” Enjolras chuckled and Grantaire closed the space between their mouths. And for the first time that whole day, Enjolras was grateful that Grantaire wasn’t talking to him.

**Author's Note:**

> ok, so, yeah.......... this was NOT supposed to be dramatic but it IS me writing, so dslfjaoifjçdsfijfd anywaaay.........  
> same old story: hmu, politely, if you find typos or grammar mistakes. also hmu if you have prompts or ideas of things you'd like to read that can fit in a oneshot ldsfjaoifjsfjl
> 
> i'm back writing and it's exciting ksjdaioçfdjilsd


End file.
